


Limbo

by icar9



Category: Rockman | Mega Man - All Media Types, Rockman | Mega Man Classic
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Other, blood and graphic depictions of injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:22:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23699968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icar9/pseuds/icar9
Summary: Why a machine designed to carry orders would need to speak?
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36





	1. Log ID: 001; First Impression

13 was always like this.

Darkness surrounded him, up, above, from all sides. He knew there was something out there, he could feel things bumping into his legs, ground beneath his feet, objects being moved by his long arms.

He knew he had a body, and a massive one for that matter.  
He had two big, bulky feet, strong legs with powerful hydraulics, thin waist, wide torso covered with thick armor. He also had two arms, which ended with quite long and powerful drills. Someone mentioned they were thin and deadly, designed to pierce through everything in his path, but he was not really interested in how they looked like. He knew what he could do with them, how to move them around to trigger an explosion, and that's all he needed.

There was a head that rested on his shoulders. He could move it to the left and right, and also a little up if he needed to, but he didn't do it often. He also had a helmet, safely resting on his head and covering the back and sides, save for the face. It had a long piece sticking forward. He found it annoying, as it prevented him from moving his head in some directions when he was in cramped spaces.

Silence was all he knew. It was familiar and comforting, but sometimes he wished he could hear only a little more. He was able to sense some vibrations to an extent, low humming or high-pitched waves coursing through his metallic body, but nothing more. He figured if his creator chose not to give him audio receptors, he didn't have a reason to complain, after all, Master Wily knew better.

He knew he was a robot, made to fight DLN-001.

He had a number of his own, DWN-013. His creator named him like this, so that was how the others called him.

He also had a line. 7 bots, all brothers to be exact. Three younger, four older. He loved them all dearly, even if all he could do was stumble blindly around and trip on everything.

He knew they loved him too. They were always near, he could sense their EM fields all the time, circling around him, calling to him and sending data.

He relied on them a lot. They mapped rooms, helped him with navigating through the terrain, they were his eyes, always there. 

He didn't need to see, or hear, he knew they would help if he was in trouble, as it happened a lot since his first activation. Some of his brothers called him 'clumsy' and 'a troublemaker' through the network, and he knew they were only stating the facts, not trying to make him feel useless. 

He appreciated their honesty though.


	2. Log ID: 002; Home Turf

[ Turn right. The wall is right next to you, and the door is 5 units to the left. ]

Alright. He obediently moves, obviously not hearing his feet clanking against the concrete floor. Nor he did hears his heavy fore-arms bump into the doorway. If his brother, 12, had a voice box and 13 could actually hear him, he would certainly hear him laughing, or at least chuckling a little.

At least that's what he felt, an emotion lingering in the network. He knew his face twisted into an annoyed expression as he felt a light touch of 12's hand on his shoulder, guiding him in the right direction.

[ Why so grumpy today? Something happened? ]

Was that concern? He rolled his eyes at that. 12 doesn't need to worry so much about everything, he can get around just fine.

There it was, another echo of a laugh again. Stop teasing, he has better things to do than listening to him, like getting to the training room. By himself.

[ But your scheduled maintenance is in the next 5 hours! ]

So? Master didn't order to be there ahead of time, besides he can do so much stuff in 5 hours and 9 is free today, he want to spar with him, maybe try something new and make sure he won't do the same amount of collateral damage as the last time.

[ ..You sure this is a good idea? ]

13 would groan if he had a voice box. He is going there to make sure he's not going to trash the room again, ever heard of learning by making mistakes or this concept is too foreign for 12 to imagine, mister 'I Always Do Everything Right On The First Try'? 

[ Okay, okay, fine, I won't make any more comments. ]

They walk, he can feel cold fingers brushing over his shoulder, their tips touching the metal. He knows he is 8 units (or precisely 45,7 meters) away from the training room now, so he picks up the pace, his drills spinning faster with excitement.

He is just like that, always eager to fight, and not only because of his pre-programmed battle instincts and all that coding that was put into him when he first activated. 13 just... enjoys it a lot, he likes the rush of jumping around, avoiding projectiles and being connected to his loyal flock of P1-P1 bots Master build especially for him.

P1-P1 ( or Pipis, as he likes to call them ), are his eyes and sensors when his brothers aren't around. Their range is not that impressive and they can't fight very well, but they can fly and help navigate his missiles so he can't really complain about that. Also, no other bot has a personal army of metal birds.


	3. Log ID: 003; No Risk No Fun

13 never had a reason to explain how fighting felt to him. It was natural, him swinging his heavy drill-tipped arms and dodging and jumping to avoid the enemy. If he really had to use words, not a string of feelings he usually associated with it, describing it as dancing would be the most accurate.

There was this rhythm and beat in there, he was sure of it. Step back, step to the left, jump. Swing, jump, roll down, kick, and repeat.

He felt the vibrations of the floor, and his system did everything for him, he didn't even need to try to visualize his opponent's movements. He was just in front of him, trying to gain advantage of his position. 13's internal gyroscope told him that yes, he was indeed laying flat on the concrete, and something inside him knew that there was a Metal Blade aimed at his face, coming closer and closer with an incredible speed.

The war bot rolled to the side and jumped to his feet, aiming his drills at the center of the vibrations. Ready, aim, fire.  
He felt the powerful missiles leave his body, the insides of his drill-arms heating up, but not enough for it to be considered damage. So he fired once more, and more, correcting his aim with each shot.

He was getting better and better with predicting movement of his particular brothers when they were sparring. 10 tended to move low to the ground or jump high and then fire up his air-based weapon, a swarm of mini-tornadoes that always managed to disorient 13 enough to lose the fight entirely. 9 preferred long jumps and leaps, firing his special weapon in mid-air was his signature move. He could probably jump high enough to touch the ceiling with his fingertips. But as good as 13 thought himself to be, he could never keep up with 12. His running was too erratic, too fast to form a pattern. The beating of his feet against the floor disoriented him, it was just too much for his sensors, and he couldn't concentrate.

13 was thrown out of his thoughts by a sharp pain in his shoulder. He instinctively recoiled and leapt to the other side, swinging his drills wildly. They hit something, and he kicked at it aggressively for good measure. Then he used his boosters and jumped a bit, his sensors signaling he barely avoided getting another Metal Blade in his right leg.

Like a hawk, he dived, with full intent to body-slam his opponent, the flaps on his non-damaged shoulder opened and a barrage of small missiles was clouding his proximity sensor. He could feel them detonate one by one, some of them hitting and some of them missing, to his frustration. He ended his attack by kicking opponent once more before setting his foot on him.

[ Alright, stop, stop! I give up! ]

He could feel 9's torso under his foot rise and fall in quickened breaths. He stepped off obediently, trying to catch enough oxygen into his artificial lungs, his internal fans working to cool off his body as fast as possible.

[ You hit me 5 times today little bro. It's better than yesterday. ]

9 was saying he made some progress so 13 puffed up his chest proudly.  
He poked at the Metal Blade still stuck in his shoulder and then felt his brother's hand as he removed it, carefully wiggling out the jagged metal edges.  
He wondered how many hits 9 landed on him.

[ Only 3. Stay still. ]

He didn't move, and felt one more blade being freed and taken by his brother. Wait, where is the 3rd one then?

[ Its... I think it's laying somewhere. It must have cut too shallow to be stuck... ]

Alright. 13 noticed he had a few warnings, mainly about oil leakage and issues with the cooling system. It looked like he was leaking coolant all over the place, and he was out of missiles.

There was something akin to a sigh coming from his older brother.

[ Master will be waiting in the Repair Bay 02. I already notified him of your battle damage. ]

He never liked check ups and repairs, if 13 were to be honest. The feeling of something grabbing his wires and twisting them and bending all the things under his armor made him a little sick, but all the fighting was worth it. His face twisting into a disgusted expression upon remembering the fact that today was check-up day. So not only he was going to be in the repair for two or more hours, but Master will also do a long, long check up to make sure nothing was wrong with him.  
Great.

[ It will be over before you know it! And we can always spar more afterwards! ]

He felt a familiar hand pat his back. The pain flashed in his circuits only for a second, but that was enough for his brother to notice and the hand to jerk back quickly.

[ Sorry... ]


	4. Log ID: 004; Color Coded

Something sticky ran down his leg. And his arms. And his torso.  
It was not uncomfortable to move, it didn't harden that fast, its just....

It was warm, his sensors helpfully commented.  
36.5 Celsius, but it was rapidly cooling down upon contact with air.

[ Human blood is like that, 13. Warm, gross and sticky. ]

... But why there's so many of it? He was puzzled.

[ Well, more humans and more blood I guess... You're absolutely coated in it, even your armor is red... ]

Red? Red... Oh, #ff0000.  
He felt 12's finger tracing a line on his chest, the line curving and forming into a circle, then a star, and a rectangle, the movement was a pattern.  
Is it really that sticky, he thought it was more like water...

[ It kind of is, but it's more... gell-y than water. It won't be a pain to wash it though, just hose it down for five minutes, and you're clean. ]

12's finger stopped tracing shapes but rapidly pressed onto his nose. 13 moved to the side to avoid the next poke, playfully shoving his brother. He unconsciously felt the ground with his boots in order to feel for any obstacles he might trip onto and found himself kicking something soft in the process. 

Curious, he pressed his foot on it, and the thing jolted under his weight. Or more like wiggled under the pressure, its movements erratic but weak at the same time. He felt something grabbing the metal and trying to push it off, but he didn't move an inch, wondering what's that.

He didn't have any precise sensors down there, but he could feel light pressure as something clawed at the side of his leg, desperately trying to free itself and flee.

[ It's a... human. Huh, I though this one was dead, it wasn't moving at all. ]

Another one? He thought they killed every human in this building..

[ It wasn't moving, and its arm is bent weirdly, so I was sure it was broken or something.. ]

13 applied more pressure, and felt something break. The human's chest vibrated under his foot, and he was pretty sure it was trying to vocalize something, but he was not sure what it would be. Eventually, his leg touched the concrete as the bones broke, the chest caving in. The clawing feeling on his leg stopped as the bot felt the human give one, final twitch before going limp.

Organics are so fragile, he concluded. So easily broken, bent. Thrown them at the wall, their skull might break in half. Too much pressure, and its entire body snaps and turns into the mushy goo he could feel underneath.  
He couldn't really feel sorry for them, for him, they were not even faces or names but numbers and strings of data, ones and zeroes, just like the rest of his word.

Isn't it good that they are not humans?


	5. Log ID: 005; Something More

13 couldn't move.  
At all.

His limbs were.. Immobilized. Stuck in one place, held by the metal restraints. It was his fault he got into this situation, and frankly, it was a mess.

He lost control.  
Or so the others told him, yelled at him over the network. He couldn't hear them now, Master disconnected him, so he wouldn't do any more damage but-

They wanted him to calm down, and he couldn't, something inside him was making him angry, the searingly hot fury overtook his systems as he tried and tried to be free, opening his mouth full of shark-like teeth in a silent scream.  
His drills spun around, their tips sharp and deadly, ready to be aimed into anything and blow up, detonate, destroy-

13 felt pain every second he moved, cables and restraints digging into his metallic body, but he was angry, and nothing else mattered now.

Every inch of himself wanted to break free and wreak havoc, his pre-programmed instincts wanting nothing more than that, but he was stuck here.  
And he couldn't move.

The cable stuck at the base of his neck was stinging painfully, and it distracted him momentarily from sensing a pair of worn, calloused hands touching his helmet.

They were hesitant at first, lightly brushing over the metal at the sides and back. Something was changed, a dial was turned or maybe a switch was flipped delicately. 13 could feel his entire body going rigid, every joint locking in, his drills stopping their constant whirring, and the signal from his sensors being muffled in a few seconds.

The hands didn't stop at that though. Soon, 13 found their tips touching his nose, running down his face and touching his chin, lifting it up.  
The robot took one, fast and light breath at the sudden action, feeling very, very uneasy with his throat exposed like that.

Once more, something clicked. 

A cable.  
Perfectly fitting, it slid inside the port and the robot felt like he was drowning, not getting enough air into his artificial lungs.

Data was being sent and received, countless data packets hammered at his system, generating status report after a status report. 

The cable stung and no matter what he did it was stuck in the same position, making it harder and harder to breathe.  
His system shut down after 4 minutes and 24 seconds of frantic gasps for air, 13 desperately trying to cool his own body that felt like he was being burned from inside.

But before that, 13 could swear he felt the same calloused and thin fingers stroking his jaw, delicately caressing his face like never before. He felt strangely at peace.  
It was something more than an action of a mechanic fixing a machine. 

Because there was no doctor, no genius or evil scientist and his loyal robot, the one who he will send to fight.  
No, not anymore.

Now, it was just a father looking down at his broken child, with his head on his lap. 

Telling him it will be alright, just sleep. It will be alright when you wake up tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> terribly sorry for disappearing like that.
> 
> also, thank you all for kudos and comments <3


	6. Log ID: 006; Counting Seconds

13 knew that the stages has been set.

The training was much more painful and hectic in the past few weeks, and even he could feel the change in the air. Something stagnant was gone now, the uncertainty changed into determination and will to fight. 

Now, it's the final day of the preparations, and they will be sent into the heart of the battle.  
Real battle, finally he will be able to fulfill his function.

13 could picture his opponent vividly, the data he has been loaded with since his first activation helped him visualize DLN 001, pointing out his weaknesses in an instant. 

Shorter than him, his weapon was a buster. Simple, with solar energy bullets that spewed out of it like from a machine gun.   
Not too strong, certainly weaker than him in terms of firepower, far weaker than 9 in therms of accuracy, and so unbelievably slow compared to 12 and 15, but Master warned them against him.

Not to underestimate him he said, be careful. Calculate the risk, destroy him as fast as possible, don't let him win at all costs.

But... really, how could he lose? 

His abilities were honed to perfection, it was impossible.  
He would win. And if not him, then the others would-

A light shove spanned him out of his thoughts, 13 registering a familiar hulking presence of one of his brothers nearby. 16 pat his shoulder, and he could practically feel reassurance and readiness oozing off the bigger robot.

[ We have twenty minutes left. Are you alright? ]

13 sighed and leaned in, accepting the half-hug. Yes, he's alright. We will win for sure, and Master will be proud, he sent onto their shared channel, not sure if he was trying to reassure 16 or himself for some weird reason.

[ We will make him happy. ]

Yes, also that. He will be proud and happy, and...

Well, 13 didn't care what will happen after that. They will just win and maybe, maybe will be allowed to function for a bit more, but..  
According to 12 and 14 it was unlikely.

They're nothing more than tools made to perform their function, and then be discarded afterwards.

It's that simple.

He didn't really care about that though.


End file.
